


StarkLord - Pucker Up, Buttercup

by tisfan



Series: Candy Hearts [4]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: You see... Peter Quill has this reputation.





	StarkLord - Pucker Up, Buttercup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Politzania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/gifts).



Okay, okay, maybe it was a mistake.

The Celestial Ancillary Junkyard was, quite frankly, awesome, and that was even if you had been living in space and away from Terra for the better part of your life -- which, thank you very much, Peter Quill had. Peter was jaded, at least a little, to the wonders that had Tony Stark gawking like a schoolboy.

Okay, no, he wasn’t. That was a _parabolic core_ for an M-ship, and the _Warbird_ really needed a tune up in the ventral spacial generator. It hadn’t been functioning 100% since the battle at Xandar, but they hadn’t had the time to attend to it. Rocket had parked the Warbird at an asteroid belt, in case they needed a last resort.

Speaking of Rocket, Peter was about to throw him in the nearest garbage masher, because somewhere in the last two cycles, Rocket had stopped being in utter contempt of Tony Stark and had started treating him like Tony was some sort of precocious infant -- someone that Rocket could mold and teach and protect. Like Tony was _adorable_ and _sweet_ and Rocket had fucking adopted him, and was climbing all over the man like he was a tree. (And didn’t they actually have an ambulatory tree that Rocket could climb on if he was feeling affectionate that didn’t involve the damn trash panda from monopolizing all of Peter’s Tony time?)

“Somethin’ I can help you with?” The junker was an enormous, off-blue alien with a collection of head-tentacles instead of hair. Looked familiar. Peter chewed on his lip, trying to place…

“Yeah, how’se about we see what you might got rusticatin’ away under a pile of scrap what might be useful for repair and refurb on an M-ship,” Rocket said. “Or somethin’ like a dark matter ion terminal that I might be able to retrofit?”

The junker nodded. “I got a bit, this way, might interest you.”

Peter tagged Tony’s elbow. “I um… might need your help,” he said in an undertone.

Tony gave the junker, Rocket, and the piles of broken spaceship parts a longing stare, the sort of doe-eyed gaze that Peter would rather have been directed at something a little more warm and welcoming and in the same genetic category. Namely, Peter Jason Quill, son of Meredith. “What can I do for you, Quill?”

“You want that list alphabetical or by order of magnitude?” There were so, so many things on the list that Tony could do for (and to) Peter that he didn’t even know where to start, and honestly, the man probably hadn’t been getting his flirt on, just asking a basic, decent question.

“I was thinking more chronological,” Tony said. “What can I do for you _now_?”

“Okay, okay, I just… might have convinced that particular junker that kissing was an Earth custom, and… don’t slap me if I end up kissing you, okay?”

Tony’s eyebrows went up. “Is this the space equivalent of ‘she had something in her eye’?”

“Kinda, yeah, I mighta… been, you know… messing around with his daughter. Who was -- swear, I didn’t know this at the time -- engaged to someone else, and it coulda soured the deal, so I had to talk fast.”

Tony shook his head, a wry smile twisting up his mouth. “I promise not to slap you if you have to kiss me to prove some obscure point that’ll keep your head on your shoulders.”

What did that even _mean_? Peter wasn’t sure if that was Tony’s way of saying that anything less than that would certainly be a slappable offense. Or maybe he was just casting judgement on Peter’s tendency to be interested in the taste of nearly every attractive person’s mouth that he came across. Not that he’d been doing much of that, recently, since Tony came on board. Peter was way too interested in Tony’s mouth to care about anyone else’s. Which sort of sucked, because Tony hadn’t seemed to reciprocate that interest.

“Great, thanks,” Peter said, trying not to scowl as the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

Rocket finished his shopping, and Peter paid for the parts out of ship credit -- Nova Corp kept putting money in the account, so Peter kept spending it, but sooner or later, Nova Corp was going to realize that the Guardians weren’t actually patrolling, they just seemed to fall into trouble most of the time -- and Tony rolled the whole thing back to the Milano on a little cart.

The junker never said a word. Or even looked at Peter funny.

Peter was just slapping the button on the ramp, closing up the ship when Tony said, “You know, I asked Strecksus about family while we were shopping. And he said that he didn’t have a daughter. So I guess you didn’t need to worry about being recognized.”

“Oh,” Peter said.

“You know, Quill,” he said, “if you were just lookin’ for an excuse to kiss me, that’s okay, too.”

“Huh?” Peter’s brain short circuited.

“You’re cute. I like you. And I’m not afraid of a little beard burn,” Tony said.

“Oh.” Peter licked his lips. “What, exactly, are you saying?”

Tony pushed Peter up against the bulkhead. He didn’t quite pin Peter down, but one hand was on Peter’s wrist and the other shoved at his shoulder, hard, keeping him in place. “Pucker up, buttercup.”

Tony’s hand slid from Peter’s shoulder to his throat, tracing the line of Peter’s jaw with his thumb, tilting Peter’s head to get the best angle. Peter could feel Tony shaking, with nerves, with need. Or maybe it was Peter that was shaking, he couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was that Tony Stark was going to kiss him and Peter was going to let him.

Welcome him.

Worship him.

“You know I’m going to kiss you now,” Tony growled.

Peter couldn’t speak. He was being seduced, gently, but with urgency, skillfully, but with concern. He wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with it -- Peter had this reputation for being a wicked seducer, and he didn’t know how to act on the other end of the deal.

He was so, so doomed.

But if he was going to go out like this -- being beguiled by a man he wanted more than anything -- kissing a man who made his blood race and his body melt was a hell of a start.

Tony’s mouth was gentle and yet eager on his. His tongue feathered over Peter’s upper lip, seeking entrance and Peter let him in with a moan that was more of a whimper. The slick glide of his tongue across the delicate skin just inside his lips made him want, ache, need.

By the time Tony was done, Peter was gasping for air, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, hands bunched on Tony’s shirt and surrendering utterly to Tony’s want.

“Next time,” Tony suggested, lightly, “just ask for what you want. I’m sure we can work something out.” And he _walked away_.

Peter almost slid to the floor, legs all jelly and weak, his guts twisting together with nerves and need.

He blinked a few times, licking his lips and tasting _Tony Stark_ all over them.

It took Peter all of thirty-six seconds to pry himself off the side of his own ship and chase Tony down.

“What if what I want is your clothes all over the cabin’s floor?” Peter demanded. “What if what I ask for is you spread out on my bed. What if--”

Tony stepped into his embrace. “Then you’ve got some work to do, Starlord,” Tony said. “Because I’m annoyingly still dressed.”


End file.
